


Kogane's Kids

by Lionescence



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith's Birthday 2020, M/M, Post-Canon, the M rating is for mentioned sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence/pseuds/Lionescence
Summary: Keith often doubts his place in a post-war world. Luckily there are many, unbeknownst to him, who don't.A story for Keith's birthday.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 161





	Kogane's Kids

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to our favourite Red Paladin! 
> 
> This story can be considered to be set in the same universe as [Unlock the Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268989/chapters/27884055), for reasons that will be obvious as we go. Otherwise, please enjoy a happily engaged Keith and Shiro and a birthday Keith will hopefully treasure as much as we treasure him.

Sometimes having that Galra edge — Lance’s term, not his — makes life just that little bit harder for Keith. The keener senses tend to be an issue, whether it’s being able to smell Shiro’s three-day-old unchanged socks from fifty feet, or the slightest barometer shift giving him a headache. The heightened sight, he can deal with as long as his eyes don’t visibly change and he keeps his set of aviators that Shiro so loves upon his person.

The sharper hearing, though. That’s often hard for someone who likes the quiet. On bad days he has to sleep with a rain sound generator, and he rarely goes anywhere without a set of noise-cancelling headphones. He wishes, sometimes, that he inherited his mother’s large, articulate, expressive ears; at least then he’d be able to fold them down when he needs to block noise out.

Today, though. Today he couldn’t be more grateful for that Galra edge.

Somewhere ahead of him, as he walks up the corridor of the Garrison with Lance, he discerns voices. Sharp voices. Laughter, but the unkind type. The rise and fall of tones that were jeering, malicious. Impressions of words spoken behind hands and pointing fingers. All of it makes him feel deeply unhappy, anxious, but also _angry_.

He and Lance round the corner, and three steps in a small figure crashes fully, bodily into him, a collection of folders and a notebook hitting the floor, a pencil case springing open and its contents flying everywhere. He winces— one of those folders caught him right in an old delicate spot in his abdomen, but he still catches the person by the arms, his hold gentle when he feels them tense at the touch.

She’s small, smaller than Pidge had been as a cadet, with wide green eyes and a messy ponytail of dark hair, pieces loose around her face and ears. A low whine escapes her as she shakes her head, frantic and embarrassed and borderline terrified. She pulls back quick and sharp, kneeling down to collect her things. Another whine leaves her when her trembling hands makes the task almost impossible.

And then, then, Keith becomes aware of the dying laughter, the snorts and snickers, _‘loser’, ‘pathetic’, ‘freak’_.

Lance steps around from behind him, shoulders back and head held high. “All right, can it, cadets! Or you won’t be finding the next few minutes anywhere near as funny.”

Murmurs of “Yes, Lieutenant” and “Sorry, Lieutenant” swirl in Keith’s hearing, but he is entirely focused on the girl. He smells hints of salt water, hears the hitch in her breath. And as she struggles and bends her head further down, he spots them: an outdated set of hearing aids, not seen surely in the last half century.

He catches Lance’s attention and says, low and only between them, “Call down the Sky,” and once he knows Lance understands, Keith drops to his knees as well and very, very carefully, reaches out and grabs the girl’s hands. They tremble, and she keeps her head down, shoulders shaking with shame. He taps the backs of her hands with his thumbs, raising them slightly, asking her to look at him. When she does, through bangs that remind him of his own, and how he used to hide behind them, too, he withdraws his hands, holds them up in front of her.

And signs. <”Are you okay?”>

Her tear-filled eyes widen, and she sniffles, but slowly, steadily, she draws her hands back as well. <”Yes, sir. I’m so sorry, sir.”>

<”Let me get your folders. You pick up your pens and things, make sure you have them all, okay?”>

A stunned silence accompanies their work. Slowly Keith understands the picture around him: just beyond the corridor is one of the open student lounges, where six cadets staged their barbed observation of their fellow cadet, who, as far as he can tell, did nothing wrong except perhaps exist. Once or twice, one of the half dozen tries to get up, leave the scene, but Lance holds his ground at one escape route, sharpshooter eyes never leaving them.

Together, Keith and the cadet stand, her belongings collected between them. Tucking her things securely under his arm, he signs again. <”What’s your name?”>, and once he gets that answer, he asks, <”Can you tell me what’s been going on?”>

She hesitates, looking over at her peers, but Keith shakes his head. <”Considering the fish-faces they’re making, I seriously doubt any of them understand sign language.”> That makes the corner of her mouth tick upwards, and she begins to sign. Fast, efficient, clear, she tells her story, emboldened the more she realizes that Keith is listening, really _listening_ to her, his eyes never once straying from her words.

Not even when his fiancé turns up, blocking the other point of escape and sending the cadets scrambling to stand at attention and flinging salutes with alarmed calls of “Admiral!” and “Admiral Shirogane, sir!”

It briefly occurs to him that they failed to salute himself and Lance. Not that he cares, because he doesn’t answer to the Garrison anyway, but Shiro. Oh, Shiro will _definitely_ care. Interestingly, he doesn’t hear Shiro tell them to stand at ease. He sidles up to Keith so smoothly that the cadet doesn’t notice until he’s standing right over her.

“I believe I was summoned?” Shiro says, a wry quirk to his mouth.

The cadet leaps nearly six feet in the air, pencil case flying from her hands, which Shiro catches easily as she throws her salute. To her, Shiro says, “At ease, Cadet.”

Keith makes a motion with his hands, and Shiro rearranges himself to stand fully facing the cadet, while Keith faces them both: a small, tight triangle. Then he signs and speaks at once. “This is Cadet Owens. She’s been having some… _issues_ settling into life at the Garrison, none of which, as far as I can tell, are her fault.” He keeps his language formal, even though he’s speaking to his own future husband, because at this moment, the other six cadets need to understand what it means to cross Commander Kogane. He shifts where he stands so he can include Lance in the conversation while making sure Owens sees his hands and reads his lips. “Lance, could you please escort Cadet Owens to Pidge and Hunk’s department and let them know what equipment she needs and that she should have access to it immediately. If anyone else in R&D has issues with it they can take it up with me, or with Admiral Shirogane.”

Lance gives him a mock salute and a sharp grin. “Absolutely, o Captain my Captain!” Which makes Keith roll his eyes, but smile nonetheless, because really, only the Paladins are allowed to show that kind of insubordination to their own commanding officer, not that Keith gives a single flying yelmore about it. He steps aside, and lets Lance stand where he’d just been so Owens can see him. The Blue Paladin hesitates a moment before shaking out his hands, and very carefully starts to speak and sign at the same time, making his words clear as he says them.

“Hi! I’m Lance. If you’re ready, I’ll take you down to the labs and get you all kitted out.”

By now Owens’ eyes are brimming with incredulous joy, and she excitedly signs back; whether it’s because she’s signing with the very popular Lance McClain, or that anyone is signing with her at all, Keith doesn’t know. But he hands Owens back her folders and notebook, and waves her off as Lance walks alongside her, every so often gently asking her to slow down because “I’m still practicing, okay?”

Which leaves him with Shiro, and six cadets too stunned to make an escape. Keith runs a quick debrief, fingers and hands flashing so fast that really, only his fiancé could follow him. Shiro hums every so often, until finally he folds his arms, an unhappy furrow between his brows, rumbling a deep, “I see.”

The six cadets are still at attention, and if they could stand any straighter once Shiro faces them, Keith imagines their spines would snap. His Galra nose twitches at the scent of sweat and fear, but he doesn’t let that change his ice-cold expression.

“Before I send you off to Captain Whittaker for disciplinary action,” Shiro begins, voice low and dangerous, “I believe it might be worth giving you a revision of the code of conduct here at the Garrison. Needless to say, were you on board the IGF-Atlas, you would all be on your way home on the smallest available vessel regardless of how many light years away we are from Earth. The way you have conducted yourselves is unacceptable.

“To make sure I drive this point through, Commander Kogane will help provide a sign language interpretation.”

Audible swallows greet Keith’s wolfish grin. He shakes his hands out, and waits for Shiro to start.

There is nothing like putting the fear of god in bullies with the mere flick of his wrist.

They watch the six cadets scurry off, hoping to get to Captain Whittaker’s office within the five minutes Shiro threatened them with. Admiral and Commander stand shoulder to shoulder for a moment, before Shiro says, “So. Ready to take this to whichever department let Cadet Owens down so badly? Where should we start?”

Keith unbuttons his cuffs and the top button of his uniform jacket, ready for a fight. “Which department deals with student needs when they first get in?”

It’s Shiro’s turn to wear the grin of a hungry wolf. “Student Welfare. All right. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want even a small party?”

Keith knows Shiro won’t be able to see his eye-roll walking beside him, but he does it anyway, huffing. “I told you: I don’t need a party. I don’t even _like_ parties. What’s wrong with having just a movie night with the others and getting take-out? Hunk’s making a cake. Isn’t that ‘birthday party’ enough for you?”

He needn’t mention that as soon as it was a minute past midnight Shiro had swept him up, stripped him down, and fucked him most excellently, thank you very much. And that the morning had begun with a brain-melting blowjob, followed by warm apple strudel with mascarpone and a cup of coffee brought to him in bed on a tray scattered with paper hearts. Plus, he agreed to work only half the day so that Shiro can take him out on the hoverbikes later before they need to be back for the aforementioned movie night with the Paladin family.

Keith never wanted much, and he still doesn’t. What he has makes him plenty happy.

But for whatever reason, Shiro isn’t having it. He’s been coy and careful since they left their quarters, suggesting yet not committing. “Of course it’s party enough for us, we’ve always made do with what we had,” he says, skirting around something with a twitchy smile. “I’m just saying, we’re more than just us and the Paladins now. And you’re more than just Keith. You’re, you know. Commander of Voltron. A Senior Blade of Marmora. People like you.”

The Red Paladin snorted, shaking his head. “Hah! Please, Shiro. People don’t like me. People never have.”

Who, exactly, Keith defined as ‘people’ remains ambiguous. He knows that he is a sore subject amongst the top brass of the Garrison: only Iverson, Palmer, and Ryu were truly apologetic and welcoming, even respectful of him. Meanwhile Commander Holt and Shiro are probably the only reason Dos Santos, Montgomery, and the rest haven’t been able to get rid of him. Senior cadets and newly-minted officers of his cohort range from resentful, to ambivalent, to strangely intimidated, so there are no friends for him there, save maybe Nadia and Ryan, and Ina. Griffin — and it’s telling they’re still on last name basis — keeps himself at a scowling distance, and Keith never lost sleep over it before, he’s not going to now.

Really, he’s not sure why he’s really around the Garrison much at all, or why they elected to give him an office. He’s never been the kind to stay where he’s not wanted or needed, nevermind welcomed. But the Atlas is in between missions, and Kolivan and Krolia are clearing the Blade’s transition to a humanitarian relief organization; once that’s finalized Keith knows he will go where he’s needed, and he will have Shiro’s love and blessing to do so.

The Garrison really won’t miss him.

“Aw, Keith, you know that’s not true —”

“Shiro.” They’re at his office door, just one before the larger doors that lead to Shiro’s own office, and Keith is uncharacteristically done with his fiancé as this point. “I don’t know what it is you’re trying to do, or what you’re trying to get at, but I am _fine_ with what I have, okay?” He punches in his entry code with a little more force than necessary and sighs. “I’m not you. People don’t have to like me, and I feel no need to make them like me. So just —”

The lights flick on as he steps through his open door, and he fails to finish his sentence. Because his desk — and it isn’t a small desk — is entirely covered in things that weren’t there the day before. A banner hangs over it, red with gold letters that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY and bouquets of balloons in red, black, and white wrapped in gold streamers.

Keith knows that a part of him will likely always be eternally awkward, forever defensive, and oddly suspicious of kindness. As much as a good part of his brain recognizes that what is in front of him is obviously birthday related, that awkward, defensive, suspicious part is sharper and louder, and he hears himself say, “How did these get into my office?”

Shiro laughs out loud behind him, and Keith wishes he could be angry but he’s still overwhelmed and confused. Those feelings barely ease when Shiro drops a heavy, comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing. When Keith looks at him, he has the look of a bashful schoolboy, the hand not on his shoulder scratching the back of his neck. “Uh. Well. They asked me really nicely, when they found out you weren’t going to have a birthday party they could come to.”

“ _They?_ Who’s _they?_ ”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but steps out of Shiro’s hold and towards the desk. Nothing was wrapped in the traditional sense: things had ribbons on, criss-crossed in parcel ties or tied in large puffed bows with curled tails, but no paper hid what they were. A plastic-covered plate full of cupcakes each topped with a strawberry, a selection of books — South East Asian folklore, Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_ , classic sci-fi, a collection of stories about the constellations, the last book Stephen Hawking wrote — sit alongside a bag of candied orange peel, another bag of sour strawberry laces, even a bag of treats for Kosmo. There’s a large coffee mug with a bird on it yelling _I am a goddamned delight_ , which startles a giggle out of him, a row of little bottles of fountain pen inks, a sketchbook with a set of charcoal pencils, a see-through box of pink macarons.

Keith remains speechless, so Shiro closes in, slips an arm around his waist. “I told them that you weren’t fond of surprises, so they made sure you could see what they got you. And maybe I told them that you liked strawberry-flavoured things.”

 _They_ eventually make themselves known in the stack of cards in the middle of the collection of gifts. With each one he opens, he recognizes a name. Cadets, mostly from the current year’s intake. Keith feels something well up in him, but he doesn’t understand. He turns to Shiro, and helplessly says as much.

Gently, Shiro takes the stack of cards, some shop-bought, some hand-drawn, all declaring not only birthday wishes, but bright and happy thank yous. One by one, Shiro explains:

“Cadet Mason. You made sure all his classes were accessible for his wheelchair. Cadet Yang. Scholarship student. You upgraded his meal plan. Cadet Nuremvari. You gave her extra self defence lessons when she missed out because she’d broken her arm. Cadet Owens. Also a scholarship student. Remember her? She’s one of the best xenobotany students Colleen has ever had.”

And Shiro goes on. Card after card until the full dozen was done. Keith knows his eyes are wet, knows his hands are shaking, but he’s not sure why.

“Keith. They’re kids just like you were. They’re scholarship kids, underprivileged kids. Kids who aren’t from a grand military family, or money. Kids on the edge of juvie. You were there when they could have fallen through the cracks, or crumbled under pressure from bullying kids or unsympathetic teachers. I know you think you didn’t do anything, that maybe all you did was one thing. Well, clearly, whatever that one thing was, it meant a lot to each of them.”

Keith’s throat clicks uncomfortably when he swallows. “But I… I just. I saw them. I just listened.”

“Mmm,” and Shiro turns Keith to face him, holds his hands in his. “Yeah. Just like I saw you. And listened to you. And look where we are now. Look at what you’ve given them. They are going to be amazing, because of you. And that makes me so proud of you, baby.”

Keith closes the distance between them and buries his face in Shiro’s chest, hands curled into fists clutching his black uniform jacket. Shiro’s reply comes in a full-bodied hug, Altean hand at his hip, flesh hand cradling the back of his head. He’s still not sure what it is he’s feeling, as much as he trusts Shiro’s words. Something in him has become unbalanced by it all, so he breathes deeply, taking in the comforting scent of his future husband, the warmth of his embrace.

They sway quietly in place for a little bit, before Keith feels put together enough to peek up from his safe place, look back down at the collection of cards. One of the cadets had the bright idea to make a ink stamp they all could use, like a little group calling card. On every single card shone a bright red stamp: a little flame next to the words _Kogane’s Kids_.

“I guess,” he says, at last, smiling, “we can have a small party. On Saturday. After morning training.”

Shiro kisses his hair and smiles into it. “I’m sure they’d like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poor awkward Keith. He can deal with seventeen flavours of ambush, but a wrapped present gives him anxiety. 
> 
> Good thing he has Shiro. 
> 
> Good thing we have them both.


End file.
